Leonard McCoy Must Go
by mattmetzger
Summary: Jim agrees to move in with Bones. But Jim's cat, Spock, is not so impressed by this turn of events. K/M, but mostly Spock-centric.
1. Chapter 1

**Notes: So, some Kirk/McCoy (nothing too explicit) and Spock being Spock...only kinda not. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Star Trek 2009 (or Strek Trek: The Original Series) and I make no profit from this work.**

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><p>Jim jogged up the last flight of stairs, waved at the nosy old bag in 7C as she glowered out at him, and jammed his key into his front door obnoxiously loudly. It was all good - he wouldn't have to put up with her much longer.<p>

It had been a long day at work, made longer by not getting to see Bones (phone calls weren't the same) but nothing beat coming home. Mostly because...

Warmth rubbed around his ankles, and he grinned, bending to stroke the lean black cat that wound itself around his left leg.

"Hey Spock," he said, shutting the front door quickly so the cat wouldn't get out. "Miss me?"

Jim didn't get people who didn't like pets. It was _great_ - someone was _always _happy to see him come home, even if it was only - like today, as Spock meowed and made a beeline for the kitchen - for his skills in opening tinned food.

But after he'd been fed and spent enough time playing aloof-cat-that-only-tolerates-these-illogical-humans, Spock would curl up in Jim's lap and let Jim cuddle him. Sometimes he'd even purr. And if Jim spent the evening - or the night - at Bones' place, then Spock would follow him around the apartment when he came home as if he'd been missed.

It was awesome to be missed.

Jim rummaged in the cupboards for a tin, and snickered when Spock jumped up on the counter and meowed very close to his ear.

"Yeah, yeah, I get it, you're hungry," he said, nudging the cat away while he opened a can of something that looked gross and smelled worse. Still, _he _wasn't going to eat it. He dumped it unceremoniously on a dish and smirked when Spock promptly ignored him in favour of food.

It wouldn't last long.

Spock wasn't technically _his _cat - he was, as far as Jim could tell, a stray. He'd lived in the alley at the bottom of the building's fire escape, and Jim was, to quote Bones, 'as soft as a melted marshmallow, and twice as girly.' He'd only seen the skinny black creature once or twice before he'd started leaving scraps out.

Eventually, a wary Spock had entered the apartment entirely, where Jim had promptly trapped him and won him over with proper cat food, a warm domicile, and _milk_. (Seriously, what was it with the milk?) Eventually, Spock had gotten used to him (sometimes, Jim liked to tell himself that the cat liked him, but it wasn't always clear) and had been further won over with cuddles.

And Jim had _loved _it. People came and went - families, friends, boyfriends, girlfriends, with only the possible exception of Bones - but Spock was _always _here, and would _always _love him. His needs were much more simple than another human being's. He didn't care what Jim said, or whether Jim left the bathroom door open while taking a shower, or whether walking around naked in front of the windows was inappropriate. All he required was cat food, a wire brush, and the right to curl up on Jim's person whenever he felt like it.

Pets were _awesome_.

Sure enough, by the time Jim had showered, changed and settled in front of the TV for the evening news, Spock had stalked out of the kitchen and was perched on the arm of the couch, washing his face. After a brief cleaning, he padded across the cushions and into Jim's lap, curling up with his head tucked into Jim's sternum, and started to purr quietly.

"Hey, buddy," Jim crooned, scratching the cat behind the ears. "This is pretty friendly for you, isn't it?"

Spock, of course, said nothing.

"Hey, you'll never guess," Jim continued over the weather report. "Bones called me today. He wants me to move in with him. Says nobody should live in a dump like this. Think I should go for it?"

Spock stopped purring and started kneading Jim's thigh with his claws. Fortunately, Jim had taken to wearing very thick jeans after he'd discovered _that _little habit.

"I think I'm going to say yes," Jim murmured, expertly running a hand under Spock's paws to stop him. "I mean...it's Bones. I can trust Bones. He's seen me at my worst, and he's still here. Right?"

He stared down at Spock, who stared back.

"Yeah, right," Jim chuckled. "I really need to stop talking to you like you're going to answer me."

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><p>When Jim came home from work the next day with Bones in tow, Spock found himself observing this extra human in a very different light.<p>

He usually ignored Jim's extra humans entirely. The female ones tended to try and pick him up and cuddle him, and that was solely Jim's job, so he had taken to hiding whenever he heard female voices approaching. The male ones either completely ignored him - which was Spock's preferred option - or expressed a dislike of cats.

The ones that disliked cats did not usually return.

Jim had had many other humans since he'd shut Spock into the apartment and asserted ownership over him. Some of them only came once, and then never again; others were more regular, like Bones. Spock had never really _liked _any of them, but some had been tolerable. Hikaru had made attempts to win him over and brought treats. It had not worked, but the treats were an unexpected bonus. By contrast, Gary had been thoroughly ignored for weeks before he finally suggested that Jim get rid of 'that mangy animal' and had promptly disappeared, never to return.

Bones had appeared about ten months ago, and been coming around at least twice a week ever since, usually with foul-smelling alcohol. He had noted Spock's presence - "Huh. Took you for more of a dog person." - but had not really reacted to it. He ignored the cat, and the cat ignored him. Perfect.

As far as Spock really _liked _anyone, he supposed that Bones had his benefits. Jim was distinctly more cheerful after Bones had appeared, and Bones would bring donations to the cupboards when he visited. He once brought something in a box, and had left the empty box out for Spock, which had been appreciated. And Spock was well aware that humans required social interactions with their own species - much as these interactions between Jim and Bones seemed to be utterly disgusting and completely unhygenic - and so he was satisfied to know that Jim was not lonely.

But now...

If Jim's mind had been made up, then he would be _leaving _with Bones. And Bones didn't really like Spock, and Jim had made no mention of Spock coming too, so...was he going to be left behind?

When Jim brought Bones home with him after work, nothing seemed to have changed - Bones ignored the cat that rubbed past Jim's ankles, and Spock ignored the extra human that followed them into the kitchen - _and _his complaint when Spock jumped up onto the counter.

"Jim, you really shouldn't let a _cat _near your food."

"My cat, my kitchen, my rules," Jim sang happily, shaking out some dry food. "Pass the milk?"

"Don't come crying to me when you catch something," Bones grumbled. "You given any more thought to my suggestion?"

Spock looked up from his food dish suspiciously. Suggestion? The suggestion of Jim leaving? _That _suggestion?

"About leaving this place?" Jim clarified, pouring a bowl of milk and pushing it towards Spock. "Yeah."

"Well?" Bones pressed, folding his arms.

"Yeah," Jim said, flushing, and grinned, and Bones' grumpy face broke into an answering smile.

And even if cats could smile, Spock wouldn't have done.

Decision made or not, this was _not _going to happen.


	2. Chapter 2

**********Notes: Holy shit, you guys really like cats. Also: for those who don't have them, or those for whom my vocabulary is just retarded, 'murring' refers to that weird growl/purr cross cats will do right before you get a set of claws implanted in your face. I'm pretty sure it's a made-up word, but screw it.**********

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><p>Bones had to go.<p>

It was quite logical. Jim was going to leave because Bones invited him to go somewhere else. If Bones went away, then Jim wouldn't be invited anymore and he would have to stay here, and Spock wouldn't be left behind.

So Bones had to go.

And so the campaign began.

Spock knew how much the little things could irritate humans, and he also was acquainted enough with Bones to know _which _little things would annoy him. So every time Bones came into the apartment, he would do his utmost to annoy him at the very least, and downright enrage him at the most.

Bones _hated _cat hair - so Spock took to, quite uncharacteristically, trying to leave as much of his fur as he could all over the man and his possessions. This was easy: rubbing around his ankles when he came into the apartment, walking over him on the couch to reach Jim's lap, or even curling up between the pair of them, and toying with his shoes in the hall.

The shoes were an excellent tool, as he discovered after experimentally shredding the shoelaces. That had enraged one of Jim's previous extras, and, sure enough, Bones went a very odd colour that Spock was _sure _wasn't healthy for humans. Cats didn't go purple, at any rate, so humans probably shouldn't either.

Socks were good too. Spock was genuinely tempted by socks - Jim walked around barefoot after having learned that one the hard way - but Bones left his socks on. They were just enticing: ill-fitting foot covers that were made of wonderfully shreddable material were just too difficult to ignore. And in Bones' case, Spock didn't even _try _to ignore them: he would quite contentedly hide under the sofa and catch them (and more often than not, completely destroy them) every time Bones walked past.

Claws had many, many uses.

Often he would catch Bones' foot in the process, and while this had been the primary reason for Spock trying _not _to attack Jim's socks, it only spurred him on when it came to Bones. (He was also sure the average male voice in humans did not usually hit such a high pitch, but after the first time he caught Bones' ankle with his claws, he decided that he must have been wrong.)

He didn't often actively _scratch _Bones - to do so upset Jim as well - but he reserved the right if Bones tried to physically remove him from the counters or the bed. Shooing him was one thing, but picking him up was out of order. Only Jim was permitted to pick him up, and any attempt made by Bones resulted in a set of claws (if not more than one set) being buried in his hands.

Bones very quickly stopped trying to handle him.

Then there was the stalking. Spock didn't like utilising the trick, but it was very effective: namely, follow the target _everywhere _and watch them. For some reason, most humans found this unnerving (with the exception of Jim, who left the bathroom door open when he used the human litter box, and had no such reservations about being stared at).

Bones was _not _an exception.

Spock discovered it by accident, when he padded into the living room one evening to find them playing some kind of wrestling game where the point seemed to be removing each other's clothing as fast as possible. He had seen the game before, and it was utterly boring, so he sat on the coffee table and groomed himself, content to wait until they had tired themselves out before making Jim aware of the lack of cat food in the kitchen.

Only the game had stopped, and Bones had said, "Jim."

"What?"

"The cat."

"What about him?"

"He's watching us."

"...So?"

"Jim, he's watching us!"

"Yeah, and? He's a cat, not my next door neighbour. What's the problem?"

"I'm not doing this with a cat watching me."

That had been the best thing Bones had ever said, in Spock's opinion. Because Jim _liked _those wrestling games (why, Spock had no clue) and usually got rid of humans that refused to play them. Some humans seemed to appear _only _for those wrestling games. And if Bones refused to play in Spock's presence...

He promptly started following Bones everywhere, and quickly learned that Bones liked doing very little with a cat watching him. Up to and including using the human litter box. At which point, he had thrown a shampoo bottle at Spock to get him to leave the bathroom, and Jim had shouted at him.

Unfortunately, that fight hadn't gone anywhere, but Spock was certain that he could provoke more - and did, over the course of the following two weeks.

Spock's favourite trick, however, was to walk between Bones' feet and attempt to trip him up. This trick was also multi-purpose: he used it to steer Jim towards the kitchen at feeding times, or to stop him leaving the apartment at weekends, and he had used it almost invariably on the disliked extra humans, trying to trip them up or even get them to kick him. Jim had always gotten rid of the humans that tried to kick him.

And on Bones, it worked.

Beautifully.

The first time he fell, it was onto the kitchen floor and he got very loud and irritable, and had to go home even though the plan had been for him to stay the night. Spock hoped he would stay away for good after that incident, but two days later, he was back - and glaring at Spock as though he'd figured out what the cat was up to.

Well, good for him.

The second time was ineffective, occuring in the hallway without incident. But the third resulted in a broken glass and a cut hand, which was somewhat satisfying - unfortunately, Jim ended up making a fuss over Bones instead of distancing himself.

"I swear your cat is out to get me," Bones muttered on that occasion, and Jim had chuckled.

"He's a cat. How in the hell is a _cat _on a hate campaign against you?"

"_That _one is."

"Of course he is," Jim said, in a way that even Spock recognised as sarcastic.

Spock was annoyed. Despite all his efforts, it wasn't working. He had provoked three arguments, but none of them had resulted in the extra human's disappearance. Even when Bones stood on his tail (which Spock had nothing to do with, because that would be downright masochistic) and Jim had shouted at him and made a fuss of Spock, they hadn't parted ways.

And if he couldn't get rid of Bones...then Bones was going to get rid of _him_.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes: Rapid update is rapid.**

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><p>Spock was...confused. Thoroughly confused.<p>

One day, Jim would be his usual self, and defending Spock from Bones' criticism. The next, he would be agreeing with Bones and telling Spock off for things he'd always done. And then, just as quickly, he'd go back to defending him.

It was _frustrating_.

Take Monday, for example. On Monday, Jim's books were packed away into boxes and taken somewhere else - presumably Jim's new home - by Bones. The humans sat on the living floor for most of the evening, filling box after box, and talking rather than engaging in any of the more revolting human interactions.

Usually, when Jim did anything on the floor, it was practically an invitation for Spock to join in, and he was not about to give up his right to investigate his human's proceedings merely because there was an extra human around.

And Jim hadn't pushed him away, or gotten annoyed with him. He'd been in a good mood, and had laughed when Spock attempted to delay the packing by climbing into the empty boxes, or tipping over the filled ones (which ceased when Bones produced silver strips and closed the tops) to spill the contents.

"Goddamnit, Jim, I'm going to shut that animal in the kitchen if it doesn't stop gettin' in the way," Bones had threatened at one point, and Jim had laughed.

"No you won't," he'd said, lifting Spock out of his latest box and briefly hugging him to his chest before setting him on the coffee table. "He's just _playing_, Bones. Boxes are like playgrounds for cats!"

"So put a box in the kitchen and shut him in there."

"I'm not shutting him in anywhere," Jim said firmly, and Spock stalked onto his lap, purring smugly. Bones shot the cat a dark look, and Spock felt distinctly self-satisfied when Jim rubbed his thumb over the top of Spock's head.

"You shut him in the apartment."

"That's for his own good."

"And it'll be for his own good to get him far away from me," Bones muttered. Spock caught the allusion to Jim's imminent departure, and hissed loudly.

"Whoa!" Jim jumped, startled, and hastily reached to smooth down Spock's raised fur again. "What was that for? Huh? What did you do that for?"

Spock murred angrily, glowering at Bones until the extra human snorted and returned to packing books. He finally quieted under Jim's attention, but didn't take his eyes off Bones for a moment.

"When I say he doesn't like me, _that's _what I'm talking about," Bones said.

Jim snorted unflatteringly, still stroking Spock. "Don't be stupid."

"Right, yeah, because he just hissed at me in a request for a treat."

"He might not like your tone of voice or something," Jim shrugged. "He used to hiss at Gary at lot if Gary shouted."

More accurately, Spock had gouged a decent chunk out of Gary's cheek when the man had tried to pick him up one afternoon. _After _he'd hissed.

"I swear your cat wants to get rid of me."

"That's just paranoid."

Spock had never wanted to talk so much in his life, and hoped that his unending staring at Bones was conveying the message. At least one of them had grasped it; now to convince Jim.

"Is it?"

"Yes. He's been fine with you for _months_."

Bones snorted, and Jim returned to hugging Spock with one arm and filling boxes with the other.

Tuesday had been quite the opposite. Whereas on Monday, Jim had firmly been on Spock's side, Tuesday was something else entirely - and Bones hadn't even _been _there, which was the most galling part.

It had not been one thing, like the packing, but many things - Jim was..._distancing _himself.

It started in the morning, when Jim picked him off the kitchen counter and set him - and his food dishes - on the floor. Spock hadn't been kept off the counters in...well, ever. He'd always been allowed up there. And after Jim had tripped over his dishes one too many times, he'd been exclusively fed up there too.

"Bones doesn't like you up there," he'd said by way of explanation, which made no sense because Bones wasn't _there_.

And then he'd been shut out of the bathroom (with no explanation this time) while Jim took his shower and used the human litter box, and _then _he'd been shooed off his perch on Jim's pillow when Jim had returned to the bedroom to dress.

"End of the bed _only_, Spock," he'd said - again, completely contradicting the _every single night in four years _that Spock had slept wherever he wanted. Including on the pillows.

And then he'd gone to work without a hug.

_Without a hug_.

In the roughly three-and-three-quarter years that Spock had lived with Jim and Jim had _not _run the risk of having his face taken off if he attempted to pick him up, Jim had always given him one last hug and put him in the kitchen before going to work. Always. Spock could not remember a single day when he had not. He even did it when he was going somewhere else. In short: when Jim left the apartment, he hugged Spock before he left.

On Tuesday morning, he didn't.

Spock was left sitting on the end of bed, wondering exactly what had just happened.

Tuesday evening wasn't any better. Jim did come home without his extra human, which was always a plus, but he once again put Spock's food dishes on the floor and shooed him off the counter. He spent most of the evening at the kitchen table filling out forms and on the phone to various, boring-sounding people about various, boring-sounding things.

But when Spock attempted to alleviate Jim's stress by jumping up into his lap, thinking perhaps the missed hug in the morning had adversely affected him, Jim sighed heavily.

"Not _now_, Spock," he said, brushing the cat off and onto the floor roughly. "I'm _busy_. Go and use your scratching post or something."

Spock sat down on the tile and stared up at him in complete confusion. He had never been turned away before. Generously, he opted to give Jim a chance to rethink that option, and wound around his ankles with a soft meow.

"Not _now_!" Jim shouted, and Spock bristled, stalking angrily from the room.

It was in the early hours of Wednesday morning before Jim sought him out, squirming his upper body under the computer desk with a handful of Spock's favourite treats in an obvious bribe. Spock had missed out on dinner, so he was hungry - but he was also reluctant to grace Jim with anything that might be mistaken for forgiveness. He resolutely turned his face away and let a warning murr.

Jim sighed. "I know. I'm sorry I snapped. I'm just stressed and I had a bad day and I have loads of really boring shit to do. And then I end up upsetting my cat and he disappears for hours and is very good at making me feel bad."

He sighed again and shifted, then suddenly both hands were clamped around Spock and he was being bodily hauled out from under the desk, the treats abandoned on the carpet. He clamped his paws - all four - warningly around Jim's arm but couldn't _quite _bring himself to dig in his claws, and ended up in Jim's lap on the desk chair.

"Apparently stroking your cat is meant to be good for your health and temperament," Jim said, offering more treats from the packet on the desk. Spock eyed them suspiciously, but still didn't take them. "Maybe I should have just stayed home and played with you all day instead."

That sounded like an excellent idea, and Spock wondered why humans were always so adamant that they couldn't do such things.

"Come on," Jim said eventually, when Spock continued to reject the treats. "Let's go to bed. Bones won't find out. It'll be our little secret."

Spock had no idea what that was supposed to mean, but the end result was that he wasn't shooed to the end of the bed, but ended up curled up against Jim's chest, with one hand idly stroking him as Jim dozed off.

The peace didn't last.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes: With many drunken hugs to you all for the reviews. **

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><p>The entrance buzzer went off halfway through the weather report, and Spock murred unhappily when Jim removed him from his lap and went to answer it. <em>He <em>knew who it was - and sure enough, five minutes later, Jim and Bones were doing that strange human act of pressing their mouths together at the door.

"I thought you had a late shift at the hospital?" Jim asked; the moment Spock registered that they were heading for the couch, he dug his claws into the couch cushion. To his dismay, Jim easily plucked him free; to his satisfaction, he was put back in Jim's lap and received a good scratch behind the ears.

"Traded it," Bones said. "Turns out Dr. Murphy gets his kids next weekend, and when he heard I have Joanna tomorrow, he offered to trade shifts with me if I take next Friday night."

As they exchanged more mouth-presses (Spock judged, from the television, that they were probably called kisses, like the ones Jim sometimes put on the top of his head) he viciously hoped that a joanna was some kind of human disease. Hopefully it was fatal, and then Bones would go away.

He took his opportunity to express his displeasure at the interrupted evening: when Bones shifted to lean over Jim, and in the process placed his hand on Jim's hip, Spock lashed out.

"_Ow_! Shit! Goddamnit, Jim, I'll have that cat declawed if he doesn't cut it out!"

"You must have leaned on his tail or something," Jim said breathlessly, and laughed when he saw the wound. "That's tiny! Don't be such a baby!"

Bones growled like a dog, and Spock decided that he would have to do better next time. Still, he stopped leaning over Jim.

"She'd like to meet you."

"What?" Jim shifted, surprised.

"JoJo. She'd like to meet you."

"Erm...but, Bones, I..."

"You're going to have to meet her eventually," Bones said. "And anyway, she thinks the sun shines outta your ass, darlin'. Minute she heard you're a baseball fan, that was it."

"Only because you're not," Jim teased.

Bones shrugged. "Whatever. So, you wanna meet her?"

"Um...I guess so. Okay."

"I'll bring her around tomorrow and we can have the day out somewhere. Only that thing," he jabbed a finger in Spock's direction, and Spock murred unhappily, "has to be kept out of the way. She's allergic."

"How allergic?" Jim frowned.

"_Allergic _allergic," Bones said. "Don't give me that look. I'm not suggesting you throw the cat out of the window. Just keep it in another room. Shut it in the bathroom or something."

"Him."

"It."

"_He _is a cat, and cats have sexes too," Jim sniped, but any hopes Spock had of them fighting and splitting up were dashed, as they remained close together and in physical contact. "Alright, fine, but only if we're not out too long."

"He'll sleep the day away."

"Only half of it," Jim returned, performing another mouth-press. The habit looked to be somewhat disgusting, and Spock jumped down off of Jim's lap with a disgruntled air.

"Oh good," he heard Bones say, so he spitefully leapt onto the coffee table and turned to watch them serenely as they shed their clothing (honestly, so impractical) and exchange _noisy _mouth-presses. "Jesus Christ."

"What?" Jim asked, his voice sounding somewhat odd.

"Jim. Your cat. Is watching us. Again."

"So?"

"Bedroom. With the door _closed_."

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><p>Spock watched from the end of the bed as Jim fussed over his clothing (yet another advantage, he thought smugly, of having fur) and changed it about six times. And it was only ten o'clock in the morning. How ridiculous.<p>

"Don't you look at me like that," he scolded the cat at least twice. "I have to make a good impression! She's Bones' _kid_!"

Oh, that helped. A joanna was also known as a kid. Well, Spock didn't know what _that _was either. But if it was female, then it was probably confusing or irritating, so he would rather not find out.

"Alright. Alright, fine, that'll do," Jim fretted, finally deciding to _stop _switching clothes. Spock scretched and jumped down from the bed. Maybe the human would go and work on the computer now, and Spock could doze under the desk lamp. "Hey, no, come here."

Spock meowed in surprise when Jim picked him up and, instead of cuddling him, held him at arms length and walked into the bathroom. What on earth...Jim wasn't thinking about _washing _him, was he? Because that wasn't going to happen.

"Sorry about this," Jim said, depositing him in the (thankfully empty, or Spock would have been forced to remove both of Jim's hands at the wrist) bath. "But Joanna's allergic to cats - which means she can't come near _you_."

That didn't sound like a bad thing. Something belonging to Bones was quite probably something Spock was not interested in having anywhere near himself, thank you very much.

"I'll only be out for a couple of hours. You can sleep in the sink! You like that," Jim said encouragingly. "And I'll bring back some treats from the store, too. Okay?"

Wait, what?

And Jim backed out of the bathroom and - shut the door.

Spock meowed in alarm, following and scratching at the bottom of the door, but Jim's footsteps moved away. After a moment, he heard the distinctive sounds of the closet down the hall being opened, and relaxed. Oh, it was cleaning day. Well, Spock didn't like the vaccuum cleaner, so if that was why he was shut in here, then fine.

He jumped up into the sink and curled into the perfectly-shaped bowl for a nap. He could catch half an hour while Jim cleaned the apartment, and then he was sure he'd heard something about treats from the store. He dozed lightly, half-aware of the sounds of the vaccuum cleaner, and yawned widely when it shut off again and the front door slammed.

Only to hear a...a _screeching _thing.

And _Bones_.

"Jim, this is JoJo. Once she's done bursting your eardrums, you can introduce yourself. _Jo_! Stop hollerin', girl!"

Spock jumped down and sat by the door to wait. Jim was _obviously _done cleaning. It was time to let him out.

But the voices kept moving around - Jim and Bones were talking, and sometimes a new voice, gratingly high-pitched, would join in. Spock meowed and scratched at the bottom of the door hopefully when the voices passed by in the hall, but nothing happened.

And then the front door slammed again, and everything went quiet.

No, not quiet. _Silent_.

They'd left.

They'd left the apartment - all of them. Even Jim. They'd left him shut in the bathroom! _Jim _had shut him in the bathroom and gone away!

Spock spent the next hour meowing loudly and scratching at the door, but it was much heavier than the bedroom door and simply refused to budge. When it became apparent that it wasn't going to move, he returned to the sink and opted to have a good snooze - but Jim could just _forget _about any cuddling today, treats or no treats. Spock wasn't going to go _near _him - for a week!

When he woke again, the bathroom was dark. The darkness in itself he didn't mind - it was only like a bathroom with the lights off - but the apartment was still deathly silent, and the darkness meant that the whole day had passed. He was hungry! Jim had left the bath tap dripping so that he could drink, but there wasn't any food, and either way, _where was Jim?_

A cold chill that was nothing to do with the bathroom prickled up Spock's spine and made his fur rise up unhappily. What if this was the moving in with Bones? What if Jim had _left_? What if he'd gone to be part of Bones' family now, and left Spock shut in the bathroom?

He wouldn't...right?

But Spock couldn't deny that he wasn't _here_.

And maybe he wasn't coming back.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes: Only one more chapter to go!**

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><p>Spock was jerked from an uneasy, restless doze when the apartment door crashed open and footsteps pounded down the hall towards the bathroom. A moment later, the door flew open and Jim, flushed and panting, crossed the threshold and reached for Spock with both hands.<p>

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry," he babbled, sweeping the cat up into his arms and turning tail, carrying Spock through the hall and into the kitchen. "I'm so sorry - I didn't mean to be gone so long!"

Spock vaguely realised, as Jim deposited him on the counter - apparently forgetting Bones' mandate - that it was morning, and he must have been in the bathroom for a whole day and night. He sourly settled onto the counter, tucking his paws under himself and curling his tail until he was as compact as possible. Bathrooms were _cold_.

"When I realised this morning - God, I'm sorry. Here," and a bowl of milk, Jim's typical apology gift, appeared in front of Spock. The human turned to rummage in the cupboard for the tins, and Spock noted that he didn't actually feel that hungry.

He was too nauseated by the knowledge that he was to be left behind.

So when the dish of cat food appeared in front of him, he fixed Jim with a baleful look and ignored it. Jim's face morphed into a strange expression Spock only just recognised as worry, and a heavy hand came to stroke over him, ears to tail.

"Spock? What's wrong? Don't you want it? But you have to have it - you haven't had anything in _ages_," Jim fretted, nudging both dishes closer. "Spock, c'mon. What's the matter? Don't you feel well?"

When Spock made no move towards the dishes, Jim sighed and straightened. "Alright, alright. Well. They're there. _Please_ eat some of it?"

Eventually, he tired of watching Spock and left the kitchen. When Spock heard the bedroom door open, he jumped down from the counter and padded through to the living room, where he hopped up onto the windowsill. From here, he could see the alley. Would that be his new home, after Jim was gone? Back to the dustbins and the regular fighting with other tomcats? Back to rainy nights outdoors, and the horrible smell that lingered in every corner of such cities? Back to matted fur and sores and hunting rats to eat?

Back to...back to _no Jim_?

He remained there for the rest of the evening, until darkness overcame an overcast sky. He only left when Jim forcibly picked him up and put him on the human's bed, petting him anxiously every time he came within reach.

It would be, clearly, his last night with Jim. He would at least take this small comfort; when Jim slipped into the bed, he curled up around the human's feet and tried not to think of how much he would miss this.

* * *

><p>When Bones pulled up in the car early the following afternoon, ready to ship Jim and his belongings and (unfortunately) his infernal <em>cat <em>to Bones' house, he received a somewhat unorthodox greeting: namely, he got to the final step on the final flight of stairs, and Jim's apartment door crashed open.

Occasionally, Jim had come running to meet him when he was in a ridiculouly good mood - or drunk - but one look at his face told Bones that this was not one of those times: in fact, Jim looked suspiciously close to crying.

"Jim? Jim, what is it?" Bones demanded, before Jim was on him in a desperate hug, clinging tightly like Joanna did after a bad dream.

"It's Spock," Jim choked out into his neck.

_Oh shit, the cat's dead_, was the immediate thought to cross Bones' mind. He had no idea - and if Jim had told the truth and Spock _was _a stray cat, he probably had no idea either - how old Spock was, or even if his health was particularly good for a cat. Bones was a doctor, not a vet.

"I can't find him anywhere!" Jim cried, gnawing on an already-bleeding lip. "I've looked _everywhere_, Bones! I can't find him! What if he got out of the apartment? I never let him out of the apartment! What if...?"

"Alright, calm down, come on," Bones urged, hauling Jim back into his apartment before that nosy bitch at 7C made another noise complaint. He slammed the front door behind them and pushed Jim down on his couch before perching on the coffee table. "What do you mean he's gone?"

"What do you mean, what do I mean?" Jim exclaimed, arms almost flailing. "He's gone! He's not here! I've been looking for him since eight o'clock this morning and I can't find him!"

"Did you leave any windows or doors open?"

"Of course not!"

"Then he must be in here somewhere," Bones said flatly. "He's a cat, Jim; cats are good at hiding."

"But he _doesn't _hide," Jim breathed shakily. "I mean, he can't! Not from me! I know all his hiding spots! I've checked them all! The bathroom sink, under the bed, in the airing cupboard, behind the TV, _everywhere_!"

"...He hides in the bathroom _sink_?"

"We have to find him!" Jim shouted.

"Okay, okay, calm down," Bones placated. "Look, he's got to be here. When did he vanish?"

Jim flushed. "He was on the end of the bed when I got up, but when I came out of the shower, he'd gone. That was at eight."

"And you haven't seen or heard him since?"

"No," Jim bit his lip. "I put food down, but he hasn't come out. I just...I thought he'd gone for a nap but he's always around again by eleven! _Always_! He watches me do the washing up!"

Bones glanced at his watch. It was now a quarter to two. "Right. Well...have you been packing up?"

"Yeah," Jim gnawed on his lip.

"Stop that," Bones scolded. "The chaos probably just startled him off for a bit. He'll be back soon; he won't pass up the opportunity to trip me up in any case. Let's just keep boxing things up, and if he hasn't put in an appearance by the time we're done, we can turn the place upside down. At the moment, we'll miss him for all the clutter anyway."

"Okay," Jim said, his voice very small and absent.

"He'll turn up," Bones said reassuringly. "He's a _cat_. He's probably busy napping in a ridiculously small space - and knowing _your _cat, in your goddamn toilet or something."

He wasn't. In the toilet, that is. And he didn't show up again to wind between Bones' feet and trip him up, or even to investigate their strange activities. In fact, by half past five, there had been no sign whatsoever of the missing cat, and when they had ferried most of the boxes into the car, Jim looked even closer to crying.

"Oh God, where _is _he?" he breathed, looking around the emptied living room, as though Spock would simply materialise on the back of the couch. "Bones, where _is _he?"

"We'll find him, Jim. Come on. He can't have gotten out of the apartment. We'll take it thoroughly - room by room until we find him."

"What if he's hurt?" Jim whispered. "What if he's sick? Jesus, Bones, I left him locked in the bathroom all day and night! And he wouldn't eat anything after, either - what if...?"

"Come on, Jim, none o' that," Bones soothed, wrapping an arm around him. "He'll be fine. He can't have come to any harm in your apartment; he _lives _in it. He's probably just hiding from all the chaos. We'll find him."

Jim's lip gave a suspicious wobble before he clenched his jaw and nodded fiercely. "Okay. Okay. I'll...I'll start in the bedroom, and you take the bathroom, and...and we'll work from there."

The bathroom was an immediate no joy - apart from being shut inside the medicine cabinet, which he wasn't, there was nowhere for Spock to hide in the first place. Jim tore the remains of the bedroom inside and out, but again found no cat, even going so far as to check under the tiny gap beneath the wardrobe, which even a cat would have difficulty sliding into.

By the time they had perused the bathroom, bedroom, hallway and kitchen, and Bones was lightly tapping each of the boxes to see if the cat had managed to sneak into one of them, Jim was losing the battle against tears.

"What if he got out of the apartment?" he choked. "What if he got lost or, or he ran out into the road or something. Oh God, Bones, what if he's gone into the road?"

"Jim, if he's never gotten out of the apartment before now, then I seriously doubt he's managed it this time," Bones soothed. "And even if he has - which he hasn't - then we can ask your neighbours to keep an eye out for him. That old bag at 7C would have noticed anything bigger than a bed bug, for Christ's sake."

"I'm not going without him," Jim said fiercely, glaring up at Bones from his perch on the couch, his clenched jaw an odd counterpoint to his flushed face and watering eyes.

Bones sighed and unfolded to sit on the couch and put an arm around him. "I know, darlin'. And I wouldn't ask you to. I don't damn well understand it, but you love that fleabitten moggy, and I promise you, we're going to find him."

Jim sagged into his embrace and took a hiccuping sigh. "It's just...God, Bones, it's _Spock_. He's...he's always been here, even after I got dumped or when Mom cut me off or I lost my security job...I always come home and he's _here _and no matter what I do, he'll still...he's _mine_! I can't lose him - I _can't_!"

"Just so you know, I expect a very similar speech if I ever end up in hospital," Bones joked lightly, squeezing Jim hard. Looking over the top of Jim's head, he found himself staring into the kitchen and frowned as an idea sparked in the back of his mind. "Alright, Jim, you do another check in here, and I'll have another once-over in the kitchen. Alright?"

"Okay."

Bones shut the kitchen door behind him, so that the cat couldn't slip between rooms when neither of them were looking, and stared up at the kitchen cabinets. He hadn't really noticed before - why would he? - but they weren't attached to the ceiling like the ones in _his _kitchen. They were just affixed to the wall, with a gap of maybe a foot and a half between them and the plaster.

He remembered being about seven, and watching his father trying to get his grandmother's cat down from a kitchen cupboard to go to the vet. But the cat hadn't been _in _the cupboard, it had been...

He pushed a chair up to the counter and, gingerly clinging to the cupboard frames, hauled himself up until he was standing on the countertop itself, groaning at the idea of doing what he'd been persuading Jim to stop the _cat _doing for months now. It was a precarious position, and if he fell and broke his back then _damn _what Jim thought of the blasted animal, he was going to drown it in the bathroom sink - but eventually he stabilised and straightened up.

He wasn't quite tall enough to see over the top of the cupboards, but he could reach over them and touch the wall, so began to shuffle along the counter, sweeping one arm over the cupboard tops until, sure enough, his hand bumped a small wall of fur.

Only...

Only the furball was still. Unnaturally still. He brushed his fingers over the immobile form, and felt a cold fist of anxiety clench tightly around his guts.

The cat wasn't moving - at all.

"Oh no," he breathed.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes: The final chapter! I may create more stories within this universe, but that's only a maybe. Suggestions quite welcome as to anything you guys would like to see.**

* * *

><p>By the time the noise and clatter subsided, Spock had resigned himself to the simple, stark facts: Jim was leaving. It was over: Spock would once more be a stray, and Jim would forget about him entirely. Maybe they even get a <em>new <em>cat - one with all its shots and a pedigree, instead of a mere stray.

So when Bones' hand suddenly intruded on his space and shortly found the fur on his back, he did not bother to retaliate. What would be the use? Whether he scratched the infuriating human or not, the outcome would be exactly the same.

"Oh no," he heard Bones mutter, and the hand felt around a little more, pressing against Spock's side firmly for a moment. "Oh, thank Christ for that," he muttered, and then those fingers buried themselves into the scruff of Spock's neck and he was hauled bodily out of his hiding place.

To his utmost surprise, he was only dangled in the air shortly before Bones clutched him to his chest - inexpertly, and not nearly so comfortably as Jim would carry him, but still. It was better than nothing. The man was warm, and smelled funny - not like Jim at all, but not exactly unpleasant.

"Jim! Jim, I found him!"

Spock dug his claws into the man's sleeves as he stepped down - but murred in uneasy surprise when Bones didn't drop him into the tiled floor as he'd expected. What was going on?

The kitchen door crashed open and Jim barrelled in, face streaked with tears and arms outstretched.

"Oh my God!" he choked, and suddenly Spock was away from the odd-smelling, awkward grip of Bones and cuddled securely against Jim's chest. This was a familiar place, and he relaxed into Jim's arms, sagging into his body heat and familiar smell and that strange drumming inside his chest. It would be the last time; he might as well enjoy it.

But Jim wasn't putting him down, or even carrying him anywhere - he buried his face into Spock's fur and took a deep, hitching breath. His face was uncomfortably damp, and his shaky breathing made the stability of his hold somewhat questionable - _and Spock had no idea what was going on_.

"Hey," Bones murmured, stepping close to Jim; his hand appeared on Jim's opposite shoulder. "Hey, it's alright. He's fine. Look at him, he's just fine."

"Mhm," Jim mumbled, still not removing his face from the back of Spock's neck. He finally shifted to kiss the top of Spock's head, and Spock was surprised when no protest came from Bones. "Oh _God_," Jim breathed, moving Spock in his arms to stroke one hand over his flank.

Bones stepped around Jim and pulled him close until Spock was cupped by both of their bodies. Jim's arms prevented Bones from getting _too _close - and after being picked up by the frustrating creature, Spock was not too impressed at having him in the same room anyway - but he could not deny that the surrounding heat was pleasant. The top of the kitchen cupboards was not a warm place.

"It's alright, darlin'. It's alright. He was just hidin'. We'll get him in the carrier and in the car, no problem. It's alright; calm down now."

Jim removed his face from Spock to plant it into Bones' shoulder. "Sorry," he mumbled.

"Nah," Bones replied, and Spock shifted unhappily when his arm brushed past Spock's face to go around Jim's back in a hug. "The damn animal's important to you. Why do you think I put up with all that damn _fur _everywhere?"

Jim chuckled. It sounded somewhat off, but the motion of his chest was unmistakeable, and Spock nestled further into him. If Jim was chuckling, then - for the moment - things were just fine in his world. It would not last long, but so be it.

"I'll get the last of the boxes in the car," Bones murmured, then was gone with another bang of the kitchen door. Spock stiffened in Jim's arms; this, then, was it. Jim would put him down - maybe put him out on the fire escape because he surely wouldn't just shut him into the empty apartment? - and go.

"Come on, you," Jim mumbled, his voice hoarse. "Let's you into your own box, huh?"

Spock meowed in disbelief when he was unceremoniously removed from Jim's chest and placed in a strange basket with some kind of wire door on the kitchen table. He was going to be left in a _box_? But...but that was just cruel! Surely Jim wasn't going to abandon him in a box! He wouldn't!

The box was jerked off the table, and Spock meowed again, distinctly unhappy this time.

"Ssh, it's okay," Jim crooned from somewhere above him. "It's okay. It's only for an hour, at the most. Promise."

It was most definitely _not _okay. Jim had some strange definitions of 'okay' but _this _didn't fit anybody's criteria. The box was swaying madly, and Spock had no idea how far off the ground he was. Peering through the mesh, he watched the emptied living room swing by, devoid of _anything_, and then...

And then they were going down the stairs - and _outside_! What was Jim _doing_?

"Ssh, Spock, it's alright," Jim called from wherever he'd gone - Spock couldn't smell him anymore over the city-smell of fuel and rubbish and _dogs_ - and Spock meowed. Maybe if he protested enough, Jim would let him out.

He wasn't let out. Quite the opposite, the box was placed on the ground - Spock hissed at the unpleasant _stench _that rose off the hot concrete underneath his box - briefly before being lifted again, into another box. A box within a box - quite ridiculous.

The bigger box was metal, and too cold, and was vibrating unpleasantly with an alarming sound, and smelled strange - but on the plus side, Jim was in this bigger box too, arms wrapped around Spock's box and the fingers of one hand tangled in the mesh that made up the door. Spock rubbed his face against the fingers hopefully, but they wouldn't open the door.

"All set, Jim?"

"Yeah," Jim's voice was low. "He doesn't like this."

"Yeah, well, don't think I'd like being shoved in a basket either."

The vibrating rose into a shuddering, before the box jerked into motion again. Spock restrained himself from meowing again - he clearly wasn't going to be released - but pressed into the side of the box closer to Jim's body.

"He's never been in one before, I don't think," Jim said.

"What? How do you take him to the vet - carry him?"

"I don't. I haven't needed to."

"What about his shots?"

Jim's fingers pushed a little further into the box to clumsily pet Spock's face. "I...I can't really afford to. That's why I kept him indoors all the time. So...so he wouldn't catch anything."

There was a pause. Then: "Jesus, Jim. I'll make him an appointment next week. I'm not having a disease-carrying cat in my house."

"He doesn't have diseases!" Jim said hotly.

"And let's keep it like that. Bad enough there's going to be cat hair everywhere without adding hairballs and vomit to things."

"Ew," Jim said blandly, hugging the box tighter. Spock found it a poor substitute for a proper hug, and curled his tail around himself unhappily. He didn't like this - he didn't know what was going on, or where they were going, or why he'd been put in a box.

After some time - a long time, but not as long as the incident with the bathroom and the joanna - the shuddering and the horrible _noise _came to an end, and the metal box stilled again. Jim's fingers vanished from the mesh and the world swayed for a brief period, before they were...

They were back indoors. It was a _different _indoors, but it was an indoors all the same. It had different furniture, and smelled different, but Spock had seen many pictures of the indoors that belonged to other people in Jim's newspapers and magazine, and on the television. And judging by the smell, this was most definitely Bones' indoors.

He was left there for some time, able to watch Jim and Bones move Jim's boxed belongings into the indoors and begin to sort through them. For a while, he scratched at the mesh and meowed to be let out, but after repeated, useless croonings from Jim, he gave in and settled down into the uncomfortable basket bottom of the box.

They'd clearly take him to wherever he was supposed to go later.

* * *

><p>It took a couple of hours but after finally sorting out at least which boxes were to go where, and unpacking the immediate supplies like clothes and cat food and Jim's allergy medications, the stressful part of the move was over.<p>

Well. The stressful part had been over when Bones had yelled from the kitchen - and with that thought, Jim disentangled himself from Bones on the couch and padded across to the desk where Spock's cat basket sat, its occupant having been quiet for hours.

"Do you want me to cook, or will takeout do?" Bones called after him as he began to fumble with the latches, and a pair of sharp eyes peered at him from the shadowed depths of the basket.

"Pizza?" Jim suggested hopefully. "Are all the doors and windows shut?"

"Fine, just this once. I'll shut the kitchen window," Bones grumbled, stretching and padding through into the kitchen.

Jim turned his attention back to his cat, lifting Spock gently from the confines of the basket and settling the surprisingly heavy feline into his arms, smoothing down the dark fur absently. Spock eyed his surroundings suspiciously, but when Jim settled back onto the couch and set the cat into his lap, Spock ignored the room in favour of rubbing against Jim's hands and emitting a low purr.

"Hey," Jim said, and smiled. "Not avoiding me anymore, huh?"

Obviously, the cat didn't answer him, but the low rumble escalated when he scratched behind those pointed ears.

"Well, this is home now," Jim muttered, glancing about the living room, then back down at the black bundle of fur in his lap, which had looked up at the word 'home.' "Whaddaya think?"

Spock stared back at him, his face the picture of catlike impassiveness. Then he arched his back, stepped gracefully from Jim's thighs, and curled into a tight ball beside his hip, squeezing into the impossible space between Jim and the arm of the couch.

"Yeah," Jim said, quite seriously. "I agree."


End file.
